


5+1: Brotherly Love

by MaverikLoki, Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward situations, Bad Decisions, Brotherly Love, M/M, One lover slightly used, One-Sided Attraction, Questionable affections, They're not twins but they might as well be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/pseuds/MaverikLoki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Cormac and Artemis Hawke got themselves into and back out of trouble, and one time somebody had to go get dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eins: 9:14 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac's 11, Artie's 9.

They always slept the same way, Cormac curled protectively around Artemis, one blanket for both of them. The twins were small enough to still be sleeping with their mother, and Malcolm and Anton slept side by side, as if there were no magic separating the mage father from his yet-unafflicted son. Malcolm would point out stars and constellations, until Anton fell asleep, and then Cormac and Artemis were left to quietly amuse themselves, which generally involved several reprimands from their mother for laughing when they should have been sleeping.

Cormac whispered another story to his brother, something he'd picked up from one of their father's books. Malcolm refused to abandon his library, no matter how many times they moved, and the shelves he'd had built to store the books folded into trunks, leaving little excuse for any of the rare texts to be left behind. This one was a story about Andraste, and Cormac found the more he learned about Andraste, the less he liked the Chantry for lying about her. It wasn't fair, he thought, that they'd taken away her magic and her best friend, so he told Artemis a story about Andraste, the mage, saviour of Thedas. They were mages, too, and he thought maybe some day, they could be heroes and bring down the templars, like Andraste forced the Imperium out of Ferelden. He told his brother this, as well.

Artemis's eyelids were growing heavy, and in that liminal stage between waking and dreaming, Artie could see everything Cormac described. It would be fun to be a hero, and he pictured him and Cormac as taller versions of themselves, staffs held high as they led an army of mages. He pictured their family safe, a home they could _stay_ in, without wheels, where their father didn't hold his breath every time a shadow moved in the night.

"But I don't want you to be Andraste," Artemis murmured, forcing his eyes back open. There was no doubt in his mind that Cormac would be the 'Andraste' of their story. "They lit her on fire." He didn't want to see Cormac lit on fire, but he supposed he'd just have to be there to put the fire out if anyone tried.

"Well, they can't light us both on fire at the same time, right? You can put me out. I can put you out. We can just go in soaking wet, and then it won't even matter." Cormac stifled a giggle against his brother's shoulder, at the image of the two of them charging into battle, dripping wet, calling down rain and thunder on templars who looked like wet cats.

"Cormac!" Leandra hissed, from a few feet away. "Go to sleep and stop keeping your brother awake!"

Cormac really wasn't very good at quiet. Especially not when things were funny. "Yrs mmm," he mumbled, hand clapped over his mouth. Seconds later, he was nudging Artie for another story. "Your turn," he whispered.

Artemis's shoulders shook with his own silent laughter. It seemed like Mum was always yelling at Cormac to be quiet but not him. He still kept his voice softer than Cormac had, words spilling out unchecked. His eyes kept wanting to fall closed, but his mouth had no trouble staying open.

Artie told his brother a story based on something he'd heard in the last town they'd stopped in, a story about the last Blight and the brave Grey Wardens who ended it. He only knew the bare bones of the story, that there were monsters and heroes, and he filled in the blanks with whatever images came to mind. Darkspawn, he decided, all had six legs like an insect with large bulbous eyes and a striped body like a wingless wasp.

"Like really big ugly bugs that needed to be squished," Artemis slurred, eyes sliding closed and staying there. "The Grey Wardens were best at squishing them. They squished the archdemon too, which was how the Blight ended. Because the archdemon was the greatest of the ugly bugspawn." His words grew softer, running into each other. Most of what he mumbled next was incoherent, but it sounded like he said, "The archdemon is full of bees and can only be slain by a warden because the hordes of wasps would destroy the countryside otherwise."

Cormac froze. Wasps. _Wasps_? He wondered if there was a spell for banishing bugs. There was definitely one for summoning them, but that was the very last thing he wanted to do. This was not reasonable at all. "What!?" he hissed, panic in his voice at the thought of being overrun by wasps. Not that they hadn't been overrun by worse things, but worse things were usually bandits or angry farmers who suspected their father was a mage. Worse things were more likely to be fatal, but much less likely to be quite as painful as a gigantic swarm of wasps.

The last Blight had been centuries ago, of course, so even if it was true... But, Artie had said it, and now Cormac couldn't unsee it. He reached around Artie and tucked the edges of the blanket under his brother's side, before flipping the top of the blanket up over their heads. "No. No wasps. No."

"Mmrgh," Artie mumbled in agreement, wriggling closer to his brother and pillowing his head with his arm. "No wasps. Grey Wardens squish the wasps." He was already asleep by the end of that sentence, dreaming of armoured warriors swatting at giant bugs.

Cormac lay awake until dawn, sure he could feel wasps landing on the blanket, creeping in between his toes. The next day was oddly quiet as he slept across his brother's lap in the back of the wagon, occasionally muttering 'no wasps,' when someone tried to wake him.


	2. Zwei: 9:16 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac's 13, Artie's 11.

Artemis stretched his arm as far as it would go, the tips of his fingers brushing the plump pear dangling overhead before Cormac staggered a step back, pulling him back out of range. "Maker's breath," Artie muttered, just because Mum wasn't around to scold him for his language. "Cormac, hold still!"

It had seemed like a good idea. The pears looked ripe and ready to be plucked, but neither of them was tall enough on his own to reach more than the lowest-hanging fruit. Too bad Cormac's shoulders made for a wobbly stool. Swearing again, Artie braced one hand on Cormac's head, clutching a fistful of hair as he made another swipe for the pear.

"Andraste's flaming ass!" Cormac swore, and quite loudly. Still not something he'd have said in front of their mother, but dad was a bit looser about what he'd tolerate, and Andraste always seemed to be fair game. With no one but his brother to hear, he occasionally got outright creative. But, this time, he was otherwise occupied with the seriousness of the situation. "Quit pulling! We're going to go over!"

And that was the terrifying thing, here, that they were standing on the banks of a river. Cormac didn't know which one, and it didn't really matter. What mattered was that the roots of the tree were wound down into the water, and he was balanced between them, trying not to drop his brother into the rushing water behind him. He'd have done anything Artie asked of him, of course, but this... this really didn't top his list of good ideas. But, Artie wanted a pear -- wanted _that_ pear -- and damned if Cormac wasn't going to do anything he could to make sure that happened. He had thought about saying no, about pointing out how ridiculously dangerous it was going to be, but Artie had made those sad eyes at him, and he'd just knelt down so his brother could climb onto his shoulders, because that was the obvious thing to do.

"No, we're not," Artie insisted, even as he teetered a little too far forward, his stomach flipping. "I've almost got it!" Because now that pear was a challenge he was determined to meet. He would get that Maker-damned (sorry, Mum) pear if it was the last pear in Thedas!

Tongue between his teeth, Artie adjusted his stance on his brother's shoulders and finally wrapped his free hand around the fruit. "Aha!" he cried in victory, only for his foot to slip down his brother's shoulder, catching in his tunic. His 'aha!' turned into an 'ah!' as he fell hard on Cormac's shoulder.

Cormac panicked and grabbed at the tree, catching a fistful of leaves as he rocked backward. This was fine. He could still get them both back from this -- and then he couldn't, when the edge of the bank crumbled under his foot, and the leaves tore off in his hand. They hit the water a bit apart from each other, Artie falling into a quicker current, as Cormac looked for some way to get them back out. At this rate, they'd end up in the Chasind Wilds before too long, or so he thought. Assuming the river was headed south. Which, right now, Cormac couldn't remember. But, Artie was way up the river, now, and Cormac wasn't catching up.

Only one thing for it, Cormac thought, and cast a barrier spell around his brother -- an unmoving bubble in the middle of the river. Finally, he caught up and draped himself across the top of the barrier, exhausted from fighting the river. "A minute," he panted. "Give me a minute, and I'll get us out of here."

Artemis stared up at Cormac through the bubble, somehow managing to look equal parts terrified and furious. At least he had something solid to stand on now, the current no longer speeding past and over him, and he spat out the water in his lungs. " _Maker's tits, Cormac_!" he shrieked, looking around him, wild-eyed. They were in the middle of a river. They were in the middle of a river, in and on top of a magic bubble. Artie wondered if a push would help. Maybe he could nudge them back towards the riverbank... or maybe he'd accidentally knock his idiot brother off the giant bubble.

"Andraste's _balls_ , Artemis! Maybe if you didn't kick me in the shoulder, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Cormac huffed, clinging to the bubble, which was a lot harder than it looked, he reflected. This spell made an extremely smooth surface. And that meant hanging on until help came was right out. Not to mention the part where 'help' was likely to turn them in to the templars.

He eyed the bank of the river. Too far away for him to grab. Way too far. But... "Hey, Artie? I need you to throw me. I need the biggest force push you've got in you. I can get you out, but I have to get me out, first. I'm not letting go of the spell. You're not going anywhere, until I can find a way to get you out of there." Trees. Trees, trees, and more trees. And Artie was probably about to smack him into one. But, there would be something. He just had to think of it.

Artemis glanced back and forth between the treeline and Cormac. "You-- I-- Cormac, you know my aim is bad!" And that was more fear than fury in Artie's eyes now. He could see his brother's grip slipping, knew they didn't have time to argue. He also knew there was a good chance he'd throw Cormac back into the river or break his spine against a tree.

Artie forced himself to take a deep breath, or as deep a breath as he could in the watertight bubble, and reached for magic he usually tried so hard to keep suppressed. "Please work," he prayed before shoving outwards. The water in the bubble swayed, and Cormac went flying backwards towards the bank, by the grace of the Maker just barely avoiding smacking into another tree.

"Cormac?" Artemis shouted. "Cormac!" He held his breath, but the bubble held.

Cormac hit the ground like a suddenly-flightless dragon, skidding and tumbling across rocks and tree roots, until he finally stopped, staring up at the patterns of the leaves against the sky. While he tried to remember how to breathe, he lifted one hand and threw a flare of fire just a couple of feet into the air, still well-concealed by the trees, but probably enough for Artie to know he was all right.

Artie, who was still in the water.

Deciding against standing up, Cormac dragged himself back to the edge of the river. Standing up would have required more of his wits than he really had to spare, after that rather intimate introduction to the ground. His first thought, looking out at his brother, was to freeze the water. He could make a bridge. Except he couldn't -- the water moved much too fast, and the first three attempts got swept away before they even reached the bubble. Had to be something. Had to be--

It was a terrible idea, but no worse than the one that had gotten them into this mess. "Artie? Walk toward me. Climb up the side of the barrier a bit."

At first, Artie was too focused on how he was going to die to hear his brother. He'd tried force pushing the bubble while he was in it, but it didn't budge, and he'd watched Cormac's ice spell glide and crack and dissipate over the water. He was going to die. Cormac wouldn't be able to get him out or he would lose the spell. The river still thrashed around him, and Artemis could feel the bubble running out of air, air he started breathing in too shallowly and too fast.

But Artemis shook himself and tried to focus, strained to hear what Cormac was shouting at him over the water. He obeyed, nodding his head, and pressed himself as close to the side of the bubble as he could. He hoped Cormac knew what he was doing but suspected he didn't.

Cormac cast the barrier again, as close as he could get it to Artie's back without splitting his brother in half, and dropped the first, before it could get too claustrophobic. He hoped.

Artemis rocked forward into the open space of the new bubble, the sensation of being closed in on all sides still sitting with him. " _This is your plan_?" he shrieked. "Are you nuts?"

"Yes! Did you ever doubt that?" Cormac shrugged frustratedly. "But, it's working. So, shut up and move, so I can keep casting!"

He timed the spells to his brother's increasingly frustrated and irate ranting, moving the shelter of the bubble forward, every few seconds and carrying Artemis with it. One step, and then another. Cormac could feel his own shields weakening, the magic burning in his fingers and the burn crawling up his arms. Just one more, he kept telling himself, and finally they reached land, with no more than an inch of water in the bottom of the bubble. "Step up before I drop this. I can't do that again."

Trembling with nerves, Artemis obeyed one last time, sagging in relief when his feet met the ground. "Andraste's balls," Artemis squeaked, slumping to his knees next to his brother. "You are insane. Absolutely insane." He sounded as much impressed as irritated.

Artie realised he was still clutching the pear. He loosened his grip before he ended up bruising the fruit.

Cormac lost track of time, distracted by the sharp, burning smell of his shield falling. "You--?" 'All right,' he'd meant to ask, but the world swirled, and everything got all blue-black. He stumbled back out of a dream about getting told off, by a Fade spirit who sounded surprisingly like his mother, to the sound of the river and the sight of the water-soft bank he was still stretched out beside. His brother. Where was-- "Artie? Artie, tell me I didn't lose you!"

"No, you idiot." Artemis was tempted to drop the pear on his head. "I'm right here."

'Right here' was sitting next to Cormac, his back propped up against a tree. He fiddled with the pear in his hand, trying and failing to keep the worry off his face. "Are you all right?" Artie asked. "Aside from the atrocious hair, that is." He pointed at Cormac's drying hair and the way it was starting to curl.

"My hair is not atrocious!" Cormac snarled, trying to find the magic he needed to straighten it again. "Just because you got mum's hair..." There was no magic left in him. No sparks came to his fingertips, and his arms still ached like he'd burned his bones. Heaving a sigh of frustration, he pulled himself forward and dipped his head in the river, so he could at least plait his hair, which sometimes worked, when it was still wet. Once it dried, though, he couldn't do anything with it. It would be a giant ball of fluff on top of his head. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite get his fingers to work like he wanted them to, and his hair wasn't going to look good, no matter what he did to it, at this point.

Finally, he realised Artie had asked him something before that comment about his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... not sure I'm ever going to be able to cast another spell, but I think I'm in one piece, unless there's something you want to tell me, before I try to sit up." The shield hadn't come back yet, he noticed, and that scared him.

"Still in one piece," Artie confirmed. He rolled to his knees next to Cormac and swatted his hands away from his hair. "You always make the plaits crooked. Here." He pressed the pear into his brother's hand instead. "I've already come out victorious over the pear, and you look like you could use it." Hands now free, Artemis parted Cormac's hair and started it to braid it. His own hair had dried, curling around his ears but otherwise behaving.

Artie kept an eye on Cormac as his fingers moved, relieved to see him awake. For all the swearing and shouting he planned to do later, he'd been so worried when Cormac had passed out like that.

"I fell in a river to get you this pear," Cormac grumbled. "It's yours. I'm sure we'll pass something on the way home." 'Home' for certain values of that word, anyway. They hadn't had a regular place to stay since Honnleath, and the wagon they'd left town in had evolved into something a little more like what he imagined elven aravels to be. Not that he'd seen one. But, he meant to. He'd heard incredible stories about the Dalish. "This isn't the only orchard on this road."

He kept the pear in his hands, though, sure that if he set it on the ground, Artie wouldn't eat it. Still, he supposed he'd gotten out of this pretty well -- his brother was safe, and that same perfectionist brother was doing his hair. "We have to find a better way to do this. Something that doesn't end up with both of us in a river."


	3. Drei: 9:19 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac's 16, Artie's 14.

They were in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night. Cormac knew the only times the elves used the roads was when they were moving camps -- camps that he'd probably never see -- but, he'd heard a rumour that a clan had taken to the road, ahead of them, and was headed in this direction. This was it, then. He was going to meet actual Dalish elves, and hopefully not get himself and his brother killed. But, he had something to offer -- a lot of something to offer, really. Translations and copies of original texts regarding pre-Dalish elven life, fistfuls of extremely unlikely runes that he shouldn't have been crafting (and Maker, if his dad found out he'd been working with lyrium...), bushels of fruit from the trees along the road. He'd blocked the middle of the road with the goods he meant to offer, and sat down with a book and a handful of flame to wait. He'd hear the halla, he assumed.

But, he assumed incorrectly, he realised, looking up into the face of the scout lifting his face with a blade. A relieved smile broke across his face, as soon as he realised he wasn't looking at a highwayman. "We come to trade," he said, still smiling. "Goods and books for traditional stories."

The elf stared down the length of his blade at him, the fire in Cormac's hand casting jagged, flickering shadows across his face. His stare cut to Artemis, who was a wide-eyed, trembling ball of nerves next to his brother, a second blade from a second elf pointed at his throat. The first scout looked at the second. "Lethallin," he called her before muttering something to her in Elvish. She said something back, and the first elf chuffed, the firelight reflecting off his teeth as he grinned.

"What are they saying?" Artemis asked Cormac, eyes almost wide enough to fall out of their sockets. "Are they plotting to kill us? Cormac, are we going to be killed by elves in the middle of the road?" At least he wouldn't have to explain to Mum.

"Are you actually worrying about this?" Cormac grinned lazily, eyes never leaving the elves. "It's fine. We know nothing of any value except what we're carrying. We can't hurt them, and we don't know where they're going." He said it as much for the elves as for his brother.

The second elf eyed Cormac. "If you don't know where we were going," she said, her accent thick, "how did you know we'd be here?"

"We didn't. We only know where you were three days past. Unless you'd set camp or turned off on another road, between there and here, you'd be passing here, tonight, if I was right about how fast halla travel. Which it looks like I am. Wild guess from one of these books." He gestured to the basket beside him. "The texts are mostly Tevinter. I've been copying for nearly a year. I don't know how much of this is going to be meaningful at all, but I gather the Dalish didn't manage to escape with much, in the wake of Shartan, but the Circle has been preserving the Tevinter history of the elves for centuries. I have some of those books."

"What happened to your _face_?" the first scout asked, clearly holding back a laugh.

Cormac shrugged. "A scholar. Ma garas dirthara."

"Your accent is horrible. Where did you learn to speak like that?" The second scout looked confused and disgusted.

"Tevinter books. I can spell it all, but I can't say it." Cormac shook his head. "I'm afraid my accent's just as Fereldan as it is in Common."

The first scout finally lowered his sword, head tilting as he peered at the baskets next to the boys. He exchanged a look and a shrug with the other scout, who sighed and muttered something else, pointing her sword at the ground. Artemis relaxed, letting the spell under his fingers dissipate uncast.

"Very well, shemlen," the second scout said. "We'll take you to the Keeper. She'll decide what to do about this exchange of yours." She curled her fingers, gesturing for them to get up, and Artemis scurried to help Cormac carry the baskets they'd brought. The elves kept their swords pointed towards the ground but didn't sheathe them as they escorted the brothers back down the road.

Artemis walked close to Cormac's side, sneaking glances at the elves. He'd seen his share of city elves but not Dalish, and he studied the tattoos on their faces as best he could without staring too closely. Suddenly his brother's tattoos made a bit more sense, though Artemis didn't think _he_ could commit to something like that. On his _face_? What if the lines weren't even? They'd be permanent and likely be permanently driving him mad.

Cormac shrugged off the harness that attached him to the three bushels of fruit that dragged along the ground behind him, and set down the basket of runes. He'd let Artie take the books. They weren't dangerous or heavy -- well, they were less heavy than the fruit, anyway. "I'm a scholar," he said, first. "I'm not with the Chantry, either. I think they're assholes, and this is why." Turning his palm up, he lit a fire in it again, which illuminated his face quite clearly. "I've brought what history I could find that you might not have," he said, waving to the basket Artie had set beside him. "My only interest is to hear your history as you tell it. To learn your stories from you, and not from translated Tevinter books."

The Keeper nodded, slowly. "Would you care to explain your face?" she asked, delicately.

"I'm a scholar," Cormac said again, as if that explained everything. Above him, from atop the aravel the Keeper stood before, there was a whoop of laughter, and Cormac spotted an elf -- he couldn't tell how old, elves still confused him a bit -- looking down at them and cackling like a fool.

"I ... see." The Keeper gave another wary nod. "Will you introduce yourself, scholar?"

"I'm called Cormac. Cormac Hawke, and this is my brother Artemis." Cormac cocked a thumb at his brother and the laughter above him suddenly choked off.

Artemis looked up at the no-longer-cackling elf, brows knit. No tattoos, so he wasn't an adult yet, at least not by Dalish standards, but the cut of his cheekbones and the line of his shoulders hinted that he might be older than Artemis, if not by much. The elf eyed him up and down and offered him a lazy smile when he noticed Artie was looking.

Heat spread across Artie's cheeks up to the tips of his ears. He offered the looming elf an awkward smile in reply and turned back to the Keeper. He could still feel the elf watching him, however, and if anything his blush grew hotter. "It's, um. It's a pleasure to meet you, Keeper," he said, ducking his head in as polite a greeting as he could manage.

The Keeper looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly at a loss. "You are welcome among the Dalish, young Hawkes," she finally said. "It is rare for shemlen to show such an interest in our culture, and far be it from me to discourage inquisitive young minds." Her stare lingered over Cormac's tattoos again, and she looked like she was about to amend that statement, only for her to shake her head and sigh. "If it is our tales you want, I would speak to Hahren Paivel. Mahariel!" The Keeper turned, addressing the young elf on top of the aravel. "Would you be so kind as to introduce our guests to Hahren Paivel?"

Mahariel scrambled down and circled around the aravel, to approach Artemis. "Of course. I, er, that is... Follow me. He's further back. You know, I don't meet many shemlen, out here in the woods. The scouts usually kill them. You're... it's a pleasure to meet you." His eyes sparkled, and somehow he remembered to close his mouth, if a little later than he'd meant. Flustered, he offered a hand to Artemis and then didn't wait for him to take it, just turned and walked toward another aravel, further up the road, as the Keeper called out instructions to pull to the side and camp for the night.

Cormac took the books and followed his brother and their elven guide, amused by the whole thing. Some elf making eyes at Artemis? That hadn't been on the agenda, but he'd avoid threatening the kid, unless he had to. Wouldn't be prudent in the middle of a caravan of potentially very angry elves. Could really just be that they were the first shem the elf had met.

Mahariel introduced them to an older storyteller, and Cormac offered the books before his name, as usual. Finally, someone was willing to accept them, and with interest, and they fell to talking about the Tevinter tales, as the aravels moved into the woods, and they were left to follow. Eventually, Paivel invited the brothers to sit by the fire with him, and Cormac was quick to accept the offer, expecting his brother to sit beside him, but not entirely surprised when the space was left open. He looked back to see the young elf whispering something to his brother.

"I'm going to talk business with Hahren Paivel. Don't burn anything down, Artie," he joked.

"Mm?" Artemis finally looked at his brother at the sound of his name. He caught the amused look on Cormac's face and cleared his throat. "Right. No burning. Theron, um -- Mahariel, here -- is going to show me around the camp. Yes." Theron whispered something else in Artemis's ear that made him smile and duck his head, and then the elf led him away from the fire, the two of them walking closely together.

Hahren Paivel watched the two of them go and shook his head. His face twisted as it tried to find an expression between amused and displeased.

"Don't mind my brother. He's just young, and history bores him." Cormac shrugged and picked up one of the books he'd brought, paging through it. "I don't have to worry about him with that Mahariel guy, do I? Is he trouble?"

"He's young," Paivel said, as his face finally settled on amusement. The boy in front of him couldn't be that much older than either of the other two.

"I should be worried," Cormac muttered, "but I'm not going to be. There's an amazing story in here about ... I can't quite figure out the words. Does that say something about warriors of victorious knowledge?"

"Let me see..." Paivel took the book and looked where Cormac had been pointing. Except for the Elvish words, it seemed to all be written in Common, which was good, since he didn't speak Tevene. The language was frowned upon, which seemed foolish, since that was where most of their history had gone. But, this boy and his books might have some missing pieces. He pointedly did not look up at the sound of rustling leaves, behind him, but he shook his head. Ah, youth.


	4. Vier: 9:20 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac's 17, Artie's 15. For anyone reading Rhapsody, this is a month or two after Artie caught Cormac in the barn.

Artemis picked their next target, an apple tree deeper in the orchard, the red fruit weighing down its branches. They'd come a long way from falling into rivers, from climbing each other's shoulders to reach the fruit above their heads, and by then they'd perfected their technique. Artie waited for Cormac to put his shield in place around the tree, sizing up the tree for the right angle and looking around them to make sure no one could see what they were doing. Force gathered under his fingertips once Cormac gave him the signal, and Artie hit the tree hard enough to make it vibrate, leaves rustling. A few apples fell, gathering in the shield Cormac held, and Artie moved to hit the tree from a different angle.

"How many more of these, do you think?" he asked, gathering the same spell in his hands. "My magic's getting a bit temperamental." Which usually meant Artie was running low on reserves, but then he'd wasted more effort than necessary on that last tree, trying to knock down that last apple.

More force thwacked into the tree.

"You want to just do this one and quit for the day? We're ahead of everyone. We haul more than anyone here, every single day. Nobody's going to say anything if I take you home because you're a little wobbly, today." Cormac finally quit dancing to a song only he could hear and cupped his brother's cheek in one hand, studying his face from a few different angles.

"You just push a little too hard or is it something else?" he asked, looking up at the clear sky, between the trees. It had been hot, this season, but it never really took them the same way, since they barely worked for three or four times the return anyone else was taking. They were in high demand across the southern stretches of the Bannorn, because they were just that fast and that thorough. When the harvest came, so did the messengers with offers.

All the same, this heat had been wearing on them, the last couple of days, and Cormac was worried about his brother.

Artemis waved Cormac's concern aside. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just spent too much time on that last one." He hadn't been able to walk away from it, even after the last few stubborn apples refused to budge. Leaving a tree unfinished was like leaving an itch unscratched, and Artie found himself scratching at his arms as he sized up their current target. There were a few more stubborn blighters higher up in the tree. "One more spell," he muttered, knowing one would turn into two, which would turn into three if this didn't work perfectly.

Another wave of force, and the last apples plopped into the shield... along with the hornets' nest Artie hadn't seen.

"Maker's knob!" Artemis clutched Cormac's arm. " _BEES_!"

The shield came up reflexively. Cormac didn't even have to stop to think about it. But, he was still holding a barrier spell full of angry hornets. He studied it for a moment, considering the best way out of this. "Andraste's blessed burning buttcheeks, Artie, if you just unleashed the next Blight by summoning some waspy archdemon, I'm... I'm... I have no idea what I'm going to do, other than be extremely pissed. On that note? Run. I have to drop the barrier, or they're going to catch us." And that would end in templars, and nobody wanted that. "Just back away and start running. I think if we make it three or four rows before I let go, we can get away from them."

He tugged at Artie and started to edge further into the orchard, watching the swarm get larger and larger inside the barrier. They were going to have to come back for those apples. Or maybe they just wouldn't. A complaint about the hornets would probably also get them out of here even faster, today. "Go, go, go." He pushed his brother ahead of him and started running.

And Artie went, went, went. He ran through the orchard, glancing back every now and then to make sure Cormac was following. Behind them, other apple-pickers in the orchard shrieked and screams of " _BEES_!" followed the brothers.

"This is your fault!" Artemis decided as they ran. "I don't know how, but this is your fault! Bees! I wanted apples, and I got _bees_!" The words came out breathy as he was running at full speed, one hand clutching Cormac's tunic and keeping his brother at his side.

"You're the one who hit the tree! If it's anyone's fault, it's yours, you little prick!" Cormac reached beside him and hoisted his brother into his arms without breaking stride -- and his back was going to do a lot of complaining about that, later -- both arms folded under Artie's ass as they came up on the wooden fence that divided the orchard from the yard of the farmhouse. Praying to an assortment of gods, Cormac took the fence in three steps, feet hitting the crossbars as forward became up, before it went back to being forward. He skidded to a halt beside the last haul of apples, throwing one foot out for balance as he spun to burn off the last of the speed. He stopped in a half-crouch with one knee between his brother's legs and the other foot half a leg length out. All the constant sparring and tactical games had finally paid off, he supposed.

"You good?" he asked, looking up at Artie, still clutching his brother tightly to his chest as he waited for his heart to slow down. "Any of them get through?"

Artemis clutched his brother, hands bunched in his tunic, and looked up to see Cormac's face close to his. He swallowed, mouth suddenly going dry, his heart still hammering away. A question. Cormac had asked a question. "I, er... fine. I'm fine, that is. No wasp stings. Still your fault." That last joke came out strained as well as teasing, followed by a weak laugh when Artemis realised just where Cormac's knee had ended up.

Artie all but jumped away from his brother as though scalded, stumbling to his feet and putting a more respectable distance between them. Brother, he reminded himself as he scratched at his skin. _His brother_.

"And... you?" Artemis asked. "Any wasp stings in unfortunate places?"

"No, but you're heavier than you look," Cormac complained, straightening up, with one hand pressed to his back. He reached out and grabbed Artie's wrist, a healing spell cupped in his palm. "Come on, let's just go tell Mort what happened, so he can get the wasps out of here before we come back tomorrow. Then we can head back to camp, right? Take the rest of the day off, maybe catch some fish?" He summoned up a smile, trying to figure out exactly when Artie had gotten so weird about being close to him. It hadn't been an issue, until this summer, and he had no idea what he'd done.

"Yeah, that's... yeah." Artemis nodded, curling his hand and digging his nails into his palm to keep from scratching again. "Fishing sounds lovely. Maybe a swim? It's hot as the Maker's asshole out here." He'd blame the heat for his twitchiness.

"The... Maker's asshole, huh? You say that and all I hear is you wanting to bone a god." Cormac's awkward smile turned into a wicked grin as he let go of Artie's arm and started backing away. "Been giving a lot of thought to the Maker's hot ass, have you? I thought you were still pining for your elf," he teased.

Artemis huffed, following him. "The only ass I see here is you," he replied, aiming a kick at said ass's ass.

Cormac squawked. "I mean, yeah, swimming sounds amazing. It's been hot. Almost as hot as me." The wicked grin returned, only to fade almost immediately as three more rapid kicks landed. "Ow, shit, Artie! That's my ass! My ass is not going to get any less hot from you kicking it. You cannot steal the hotness of my ass for yourself by violent means!"

The squawking and kicking continued all the way around the side of the farmhouse, and started again as they left.


	5. Fünf: 9:22 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac is 19, Artie's 17, Anton's 15.
> 
> This chapter is completely NSFW.

His room was spotless. That was the first thing Anton noticed. It was, all told, the first time Anton had a room, and it was his room. All his. All for himself. His older brothers shared a room, and the twins shared a room, and his parents shared a room, and he had a room. And his room was, for entirely fathomable reasons, spotless, when he knew for a fact he hadn't left it that way. There were things he needed, things he was _looking for_ that had been tidied into oblivion.

Well. That was going to stop.

He bought the liquid from one of the Turpin boys -- something they used to make the cows more appealing, when they were trying to breed them -- and soaked a pair of Artie's socks in it. As long as his brother stayed out of the cow pastures, he'd be fine, but any bull he passed would take an unusual interest. The idea of Artemis being followed around by bulls for a whole day, in a village like this one, just amused him to no end. When the socks were dry, he slipped them back in with the rest of Artie's socks. This would be worth hearing about, when it happened.

* * *

Picking herbs, Artemis found, was more arduous than picking fruit, but then, he and Cormac hadn't found a way to force push herbs into a basket, though not for lack of trying.

"There has to be a faster way of doing this," Artemis muttered as he bent to examine a cluster of wildflowers. He swatted aside tall blades of grass that tickled his face. "Does this look like Andraste's Grace to you?" he asked, holding up a white flower for Cormac to examine. "It looks the same, but I swear every one we've picked so far has had four petals. This one has five. Does that matter? Does it make a difference? I feel like it makes a difference..."

"I don't know. Put it in the basket, and we'll figure it out when we get home." Cormac groaned and stretched. He'd been on his knees in this field for hours, but they were almost done. They were coming up on the edge of ... somebody's pasture. He wasn't even sure whose that was, this far up the hill, but when they hit cows, it was time to call it quits.

"You want to get some of that cheese, on the way home? We're going to pass the market, and I want to stop for a bottle of blaand. I am not staying sober after this." Not that milk-wine was really the way to get drunk in a hurry, but it was a local speciality, so it was cheap. "That and it's a great excuse to grab Gantry's ass. Not that I need an excuse, but you know he'll be out there with the cheese. Did I catch you looking at him, the other week? You should go for it. He's great."

Artemis nearly fumbled the flower as he put it in the basket. "He's... uh, he's not really my type," he said, not quite meeting Cormac's eyes. "My type being..." You. "Elves. The more... elfy type." Cormac didn't need to know Artie had been ogling _his_ ass, not Gantry's. "But cheese. Yes, cheese is a fantastic idea." Artemis rubbed the petals of one flower between his fingers, the silky texture soothing. He didn't need to think about Cormac and Gantry. Together. Doing... things.

Artemis cleared his throat and looked around them. "Do you think we have enough? I'm not sure we have enough." Picking herbs was a simple enough distraction, even if his back was starting to ache from all that bending. "I see some more white flowers over there," he said, pointing in the direction of the grazing cows. "You don't think the farmer would miss them, do you? The cows will probably just end up eating them."

"Nah, nobody will notice. Just be careful of the cows, Artie. They weigh like ten of you, and if you spook them, they will not stop. I don't want to have to save you from becoming a small, attractive pancake." Cormac stopped and squinted at his brother. "You are getting pretty, too. Bethy's going to be jealous as fuckall, when she gets a little older. Me, I just keep getting wider and fuzzier. You'll marry into some rich family, one day, with that face. Don't forget your brothers back here on the farm, when you do, huh?" He gave Artie a lot of shit about that, mostly because it was a constant that he could use to take Artie's mind off his magic.

Dragging himself to his feet, Cormac took a seat on the edge of the pasture fence -- a sturdy structure that was meant to handle getting hit by a cow -- and rubbed healing into his back. Didn't do much, but at least it took the edge off. With enough time he could wear it down, though.

Artie busied himself with neatening the pile of flowers in the basket to avoid looking at Cormac. He hoped his brother didn't see how red his ears were, but he probably did. The bastard.

Artemis dropped the basket at his brother's feet and climbed the fence, dropping lightly to his feet on the other side. "Take a break, old man," he teased, noting the way Cormac rubbed at his back. His own was stiff too, but he'd whine about it later until Cormac threw some healing magic his way.

"Good afternoon," Artie greeted the cows as he approached, and they lifted their heads, ears pitching forward. "Don't mind me," he chattered as he bent over another white flower. "You don't want to eat these anyway. There's lots of tasty grass much closer to you."

The cows went back to nosing at the grass, but the bull in the middle of the group still had his nose in the air. As Artie plucked more flowers, the bull continued sniffing, following his nose in Artemis's direction.

Cormac looked up in time to see the bull getting much too close to his brother. The cows had started to mill out of the way, and the path was clearing. It didn't look like the bull was going to charge. If that had been the problem, it would have been in motion, already, but... Better safe than sorry. "Artie? Don't move. The bull's checking you out, and I promise he moves faster than you do. Stay really still." The barrier spell hovered at his fingertips, because a simple shield wouldn't be enough against something like this. With a bull, immobile was the way to go.

Artemis was still hunched over when he heard Cormac, and, without straightening, he peered over his shoulder at the overly friendly bull. "Um. Hello." He hoped this didn't come to him force pushing the bull. He didn't want to force push a bull.

Artie waited for the bull to grow disinterested and back off, but instead he stepped closer to Artie and snuffled at his rump.

"Whoa!" Artemis jumped, straightening and stepping away. The bull made a frustrated noise, tail flicking as he followed. "Maker. I know Cormac said I was pretty, but this is a bit much."

Cormac cast the barrier. "Just stay put. It can't touch you. It'll get bored in a minute, and then we'll get you out of there." He thought about walking Artie back to the fence, like they'd done with the river, but the bull was a lot less predictable than the water, and he didn't much like the idea of trying to get Artie _over the fence_ , unprotected. And the bubble had come out a little short, since he'd been trying to make sure it cleared the bull.

Still, the bull did not seem to be turned away by the introduction of the barrier spell. It sniffed at the bubble a few more times before mounting it, as Cormac looked on in horror. "Maker's balls," he muttered. "Sorry, Artie! There's... not much more I can do, really! It can't get to you. Just hold on!"

Artemis stared at the bull in wide-eyed horror. "Cormac?" he called back. "What do you mean there's not much more you can do? _Cormac_!" The bull continued to make love to Cormac's barrier as Artie shrank back as far as he could. This was far more than he ever needed to know about the mating habits of cattle.

Once finished, the bull dropped back to his feet with a grunt and promptly lost interest in Artemis and his bubble. Artie's face continued to twist in disgust. "I feel so violated," he said.

After a moment to be certain the bull wasn't coming back, Cormac swapped the barrier for a shield. "I'm so sorry, but _move_! Move before anything else decides it's interested!" He waved frantically, trying to keep an eye on everything that wasn't his brother.

Artemis bolted the moment he saw the barrier drop. He'd spotted another bull, deeper in the fields, sniffing the air in his direction, and he didn't want to repeat whatever-in-Maker's-name just happened. Artie scrambled up and over the fence. "Oh -- dammit. The flowers." He glanced back to see them lying on the ground where he'd dropped them. At least he'd left the basketful with Cormac.

Pointing an accusing finger Cormac's way, Artie said, "You! You trapped me in a bubble while a bull tried to have his way with me!"

"Yes...? It was an impenetrable bubble. It was an immovable bubble. The bull is faster than you. That is never going to stop being true. If I'd used a shield, that would have been even less pleasant, because you would _not_ have made it back here, before that thing caught up to you. I mean, the options were really humping the barrier or humping your ass." Cormac gestured frustratedly. "And you know we couldn't take a shot at it. If either of us had hit, we'd at least have pissed it off, and that would have gotten even uglier. If we hit it any harder than just pissed off, we'd have had to pay for damages, and I don't care what we've got a basket full of, we can't afford a _bull_."

After a few more abortive gestures, Cormac threw his arms around his brother. "I didn't know how to get you out, without making it worse, so I did what I could to protect you. I'm sorry it wasn't enough, but you're still here, yelling at me, so that's the important thing."

Artie stiffened in Cormac's arms. They'd always been close, always touched like it was nothing, but it wasn't nothing anymore, not to Artie. "Cormac," he said, voice strained, "between the bubble and your squeezing, you're starting to make me claustrophobic." He hated pushing his brother away, but he knew he had to. "Just stop, all right? Let's get these damned flowers back and get your damned cheese and go home." He picked up the basket and busied himself with straightening the flowers again as he set off towards Gantry's.

Cormac muttered some choice unpleasantries under his breath, and followed. Two bottles of blaand. He was going to get drunk. He'd done his very best, but Artie was just... weird, these last couple of years. Ever since they'd moved to this town. Ever since they'd gotten separate beds, he thought, and soon Artie would have his own room, once the extension on the house was finished. Cormac wasn't sure he liked the idea of having his own room, of Artie being even further away, but if Artie was going to be like this, from now on, maybe it would be for the best.

* * *

Anton sat at the table, shuffling cards and trying out a new trick, fingers moving in complicated patterns until the motion looked smooth, effortless. He was certainly not watching the door and waiting for the results of today's prank, but he was in an advantageous spot to see the look on Artie's face when he walked through the door. Except Artie didn't walk so much as storm, looking much angrier than Anton had anticipated, and Anton's hands stopped mid-shuffle.

"Problem?" Anton asked, eyeing his brother. Artemis had immediately gone into cleaning mode, looking as though the dust on the shelf had done him personal harm.

"Flowers," Artemis explained without actually explaining.

"Flowers?"

"Yes." Artie cut a glance at Anton before fiddling with their father's books, pulling them out one by one to clean underneath them. "Picking flowers. Herbs. That's how I planned to spend my day. It's how I spent yesterday and the day before, but in neither previous instance was I molested by a bull."

Anton dropped the cards, spilling them out over the table, a few fluttering to the floor. He sucked his lips between his teeth and bent to pick them up, shaking with silent laughter.

"And now Cormac's being hovery again," Artemis muttered, shoving the books back with more force than necessary, if the non-magical kind of force. "I swear. One bull, and suddenly I need him escorting me everywhere."

"Andraste's raging crotchfire," Cormac swore, kicking the door shut behind him and tossing half a wheel of the cheese Artie liked onto the table. "Really? Huffing and storming off in the middle of the market, when I stopped to get cheese for you?"

He chewed the wax seal off one of the bottles he was still holding, wadded it up and stuck it in his pocket. No sense in pissing Artie off even more. "And Gantry says hello, by the way, which he would have said to you, if you hadn't flounced off like some lord's son who didn't get a pastry." A few swigs off the bottle, and Cormac turned to Anton, offering him the bottle.

"A bull. Do you believe this town? Our brother nearly got buggered to death by a bull, I saved him, and now he's ..." He gestured frustratedly with the closed bottle, in Artie's direction.

Anton took the bottle, sniffed it, and handed it back. "A bull? He mentioned a bull. What...?" He tried to keep a straight face. Maybe even affect a bit of concern. If they ever figured out he'd had a hand in this, bulls would be the least of his problems.

"Tell our brother," Artemis scoffed, looking at Anton and ignoring Cormac, "that 'saved' is an overstatement. I could have handled that bull on my own without getting stuck in a bubble and being forced to _watch_ the bull trying to..." He gestured curtly, face a flaming red. " _You know_!"

"Make sweet, sweet love to you?" Anton suggested, not even trying to hide his smirk anymore. Artemis shot him a withering look. Anton shrugged at Cormac.

"You know, if you'd made any move to handle the problem that didn't look like it would end in you getting stomped into the ground -- shields aren't so good when you start sinking in, because there's half a tonne of bull standing on you! Shit, dad dinged me in the face in a duel, last week, so don't think the shield would have gotten you out of that! If you'd made a move to save yourself, I might have been able to drop it. But, if you'd hit the thing, I say it again, you'd have either pissed it off or hurt it, and then it's a cointoss if you survive it and we might have to pay for the bull either way!" It was the fourth time Cormac had pointed it out. "And you can blighted and damned talk to me, if you can talk to him, I'm standing right here!"

Anton considered regretting his decision for about half a second, and just let that thought go. "Our brother says 'saved' is an overstatement," he told Cormac, nodding.

"Our brother is cordially invited to go fuck himself," Cormac snapped, taking both bottles back outside with him. He meant to get drunk and then go back and get his hands on Gantry some more. Something about the idea of bleeding was especially appealing, tonight.

* * *

The next morning, Artie woke to morning sunlight in his eyes. He sat up, legs tangling in the sheets, and stretched his arms, nearly knocking over the vase that hadn't been on his nightstand the day before. He fumbled for the vase, steadying it as it wobbled, and blinked at the fresh-cut flowers inside. Flowers? Who was leaving flowers next to his bed? It took him a moment to remember what his mum had taught him about the language of flowers, but when he did, he scowled, knowing immediately who they were from.

A yellow rose, wolfsbane, and daisy: ' _I'm sorry, I love you, I'm still innocent, and you're a dick_ '.

Artemis glared across the room at the other bed, where Cormac was still sleeping. He tossed the flowers out the window.

Cormac woke up, a few hours later, to the smell of mint and the taste of old blood. Only one of those things made sense. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to flowers with some plants that had not been there when he went to sleep -- oh, Artie. Of course. He could vaguely remember having drunkenly left flowers for his brother, on his way back in, the night before. And now... Mint and bellflower? Oh, that was just grand. Suspicion and disappointment. Just what he wanted to wake up to.

He kicked off the blankets and rubbed the dried blood out of his chest hair, debating what to do about this. First things first, though, that mint was going into his mouth, because blood and the slept-in aftertaste of blaand was not something to wake up to. Even less so than disappointment and suspicion from his brother.

* * *

Artemis supposed it was too much to hope for that this part of the creek would be deserted. He wasn't interested in company just now, and he _definitely_ wasn't interested in Cormac's company. He stopped when he caught sight of his brother, a fishing rod dangling from Cormac's hands, and let out an exasperated sigh. He was about to turn around and march to the other end of the creek, when he caught sight of what looked like flowers braided into Cormac's hair. Artemis squinted. Was that...? No.

"Have you come out to play, then?" Cormac asked, looking over his shoulder, without so much as an acknowledgement of the flowers in his hair. "Saved you the good spot, the clean spot on the rock."

Artemis glanced at the rock and would have considered it if he hadn't seen the flowers first. White carnation and eglantine? 'Innocence' and 'a wound to heal'?

"Unbelievable," Artie scoffed, shaking his head as he walked away.

* * *

The next morning, Cormac itched. Critically. Painfully. He's apparently been scratching, because he woke up to it, but the itch did not abate. Instead, it had spread to his hands. "What the--" And then he sat up. And never in nineteen years had he more regretted his decision to sleep pantsless, when a handful of nettle loosened from his chest hair and dropped into his crotch.

"Nooo!" He howled, leaping out of bed and swatting at the stinging plants with the bedsheet, batting them off as best he could, before he had to slow down and untangle the last few broken barbs from the increasing amount of fluff in the middle of his chest. He seriously thought about shaving it, for a minute, before realising his razor wasn't where he'd left it. More than that, neither was the vanity. A quick healing spell solved the worst of the burn, and he yanked out the drawer under the bed that should have contained his underthings, only to be met with shirts that had been hung in the wardrobe, the night before. Nothing. Not one single thing. Was where he'd left it, the night before. And he was naked and covered in rashvine nettles.

Oh, this was _war_. He gathered the nettles in the bedsheet and ground them against his brother's pillows and sheets, before smoothing the bed again and throwing the nettles out the window. He would choose his sentiments with care, today.

* * *

Artie had managed to avoid Cormac and his flowers the entire day, a feat that should have pleased him but didn't. He'd found the leftovers of his last 'statement', the nettles smeared along his bed and pillow, and though that had taken a while to clean, Artie doubted Cormac's revenge was complete. Yet there had been no spiteful flowers by his bed or under his bed or in his socks, shoes, or clothes (and he had checked every last one). He should be relieved, not disappointed.

So when Artemis stepped into the barn and found a crushed flower at his feet, he wondered for a moment if it had been left for him. Which made him panic, wondering how Cormac knew he liked to come here for some 'alone time' when it was raining and traipsing through the woods didn't appeal.

"That's ridiculous," Artie muttered to himself, shaking his head and stepping on the crushed geranium as he closed the door behind him.

His hand was still on the knob when a noise brought him up short. A second sound followed, a groan that was either pained or pleasured, and the heat rose to Artie's cheeks. Artemis was about to head back out into the rain until he heard his brother's voice.

"Oh, please. Oh, fuck. Gant... _Gant_! Shit, if you keep doing that--" Cormac wailed and dragged in a heavy breath. "I'm gonna -- Fuck! _Yes!_ Again! I'm-- Oh, Maker-- Gant! I'm gonna come again..."

And Artie really _should_ head back out into the rain after hearing that. Cold rain, preferably. Not this again. He shouldn't have stayed that first time he'd stumbled on the two of them years ago, and he shouldn't stay now. Artemis kept telling himself that as he stepped away from the door and peered around the stall blocking the couple -- blocking Cormac -- from view.

Cormac was twisted across a hay bale, half his back to Artemis, with Gantry standing between his legs pounding roughly into him. Every few thrusts the sound of a slap echoed through the barn, and Cormac arched and shrieked. Gantry's hand flicked, and blood spattered across the hay, pushing Cormac to writhe under him. The flowers in Cormac's hair caught in the hay, working themselves out, and the bale and the floor around it were littered with blossoms.

Artie should look away. And he would, any minute now. He didn't know when Cormac -- his brother, _his brother_ \-- had become such a tempting sight, but Artie wondered what it would be like to touch him, to make him twist and scream like that. And that? That was not a thought he should be having, let alone one he should _keep_ having.

The half-crushed flowers reminded Artemis that he was supposed to be mad at his brother, though he was too distracted by the sounds to parse their meaning at first. Dandelion, mallow, geranium, and... medlar blossom? Leave it to Cormac to come up with a bouquet that meant ' _eat my entire ass_ ', which, by the looks of things, Gantry had probably already tried to do.

Maker, his brother was an asshole. But that didn't stop his pants from suddenly feeling too tight.

Another scream and an incomprehensible stream of pleading marked Cormac tipping over the edge, again, the spurt of white visible as it arced up over his belly and splashed onto his chest. Gantry pressed him flat against the hay, lapping at the bloody lines carved into his skin, and rutting in harder and faster for a few moments, before he bit down, entire body tightening so fast his feet lifted off the floor.

They lay tangled in each other for a while, dizzy and panting.

"Good?" Cormac asked.

"Amazing." Gantry laughed against Cormac's chest, before staggering to his feet and pulling out. He grinned. "You taste like blood and come."

"Because I'm covered in both of those things," Cormac reminded him, finding his simple black robe on the floor and tugging it back on. He winked and blew a kiss as he backed toward the door, while Gantry tried to find the rest of his own clothes. "Later in the week, yeah? I want to get a few more good ones before the harvest." They'd both be too busy, then.

Artemis shrank back as Cormac headed for the door, but the shadows hid him better than he'd thought. His brother looked glorious like that, sweaty and sticky and debauched, and Artemis ached to touch him, but Cormac slipped out the door without even knowing he was there.

Gantry was in the middle of lacing up his pants when Artemis stepped out of the shadows, Artie's head full of his rapid pulse and little else. "Oh!" Gantry said, pausing when he caught sight of the younger Hawke. "Artemis. What are you doing here?"

"Same reason my brother was here, I presume," Artie said, hoping the look he gave Gantry was at least half as tempting as Theron had found it. And this was a bad idea. A terrible idea. For Maker's sake, Gantry was still covered in his brother's sweat, his blood, and his... "You should save yourself the trouble," Artemis added, glancing at Gantry's hands, which were still holding his laces. "Or are two Hawkes too much for you?"

Gantry gaped at Artemis, mouth still working on aborted syllables when Artemis reached for the laces, pulling Gantry to him by the trousers and laying back on the bale of hay still strewn with Cormac's flowers.

* * *

Cormac was in bed, unwashed and enjoying the afterglow, when he heard the front door close. Great. He'd managed not to see Artie all day, and now something stupid was going to happen. More nettles or something. He wondered if enough of the flowers were still in his hair to make a point, if he just pretended to be asleep, when Artie came in. At least he was wearing smalls, tonight, but after last night, he wasn't taking any chances. Of course, he didn't actually own any smalls, so they were Artie's anyway. If his brother didn't want to get his underthings stolen he might consider not filling the bed with rashvine nettles.

Artemis stumbled into the room, one hand on the wall to keep his balance. Cormac's back was to him, and he looked like he was asleep. His brother. The brother he didn't deserve, not after what he'd just done. Artie staggered towards the bed, Cormac's bed, and wiped at his eyes, which, if anyone asked, he would say were red from drinking. And he'd been doing quite a lot of drinking, tonight.

Cormac could feel his brother standing beside his bed. He could keep pretending to be unconscious, or he could put a stop to this before it got stupid and ended with more terrible attempts to heal himself. Rolling over, he grabbed Artemis by the thigh and the collar and rolled back, flipping his brother onto the bed, and pinning him down. "How about if I'm awake this time? More nettles? Hm? Or maybe something a little more interesting?" He tried to keep it light, but he was too tired not to _look_ tired. Tired and more than a little betrayed. "What the fuck is _with_ you, lately?"

Artemis held onto Cormac's shoulders and waited for the room to stop spinning. "'A little more interesting' might be vomit in your bed, if you keep throwing me around," he said, words slurring past numb lips. "And I don't... I don't want to clean that up after. But I will. Because the monsters will get you if I don't. And you're an ass, but you're my brother, and I love you so much." Artemis's hands reached for Cormac's cheeks instead, smushing his face. "I love you, Cormac."

"Do I need to get you a bucket, Artie?" Cormac suddenly looked a lot more concerned. "I love you, too, and believe me when I tell you the last thing I want is vomit in my bed, whether or not you clean it." He pressed a kiss to Artie's forehead and got up, patting Artie's chest to get him to stay down. A moment later, he returned from the other end of the room with the chamberpot, which he set next to the bed, as he sat back down. "Nobody's going to get to us, Artie. Not the templars, not the monsters, not the wasps or the darkspawn or the waspspawn or whatever horrible thing that was. I'm right here, and I'm not going to let it happen."

He turned and very carefully moved across his brother, to the side of the bed closer to the wall and eased into that little space. "Stay here, with me. I'll hold your hair, if you throw up. But, in the morning, we are having a talk about ... whatever the fuck you're so pissed at me about."

Artie grunted something noncommittal and waved his hand, letting it flop back to his chest before scooting closer to Cormac. "M'not pissed," he mumbled. "Not at you. M'sorry. I love you. Did I say that?"

"Yeah, you said it. I love you a whole lot, too, Artie." Cormac smiled, finally, winding himself around Artemis, nuzzling his hair. His hair which did not smell clean, and that was very unlike Artie. In fact... Cormac took a few more deep breaths, closer to his brother's neck. "So, you got drunk and lucky, tonight. Who'd you get? Was he any good?"

Luckily Artemis's face was already flushed from drinking. He groaned and hid his eyes behind his hand, still trying to decide if that had actually happened. The last thing he needed was to be thinking about Gantry while his brother was wrapped so tightly around him. "It's-- that is...Gantry. It was Gantry. And he was... well. You know." No earthquakes, though, by the grace of the Maker.

Cormac flushed. "Hah, well... I ... Gantry? Tonight?" He was suddenly extremely aware of the dried blood still on his chest and the ache in his ass. "For your sake, I hope he washed first. I mean, it was just me, but..." Cormac pressed his face against his brother's neck and laughed. "I'm right, though, aren't I? He's good. Or maybe he's just that good for me. I dunno, you're probably not into the same kind of thing, and if you are, I probably don't need to know."

Artemis's answering laugh came out strained. "Probably not," he agreed, voice weak. "But yeah, he was... good. Still prefer elfy, though." Some days he really missed Mahariel. "But I... this... You still have flowers in your hair."

"I thought I was remarkably restrained considering the circumstances," Cormac grumbled against his brother's neck. "Considering you covered me in rashvine nettle, I think I was outright pleasant. Are you done? Can I stop wearing your smalls to bed? And I am wearing your smalls, right now, because I was expecting you to do it again, and I don't need to be washing rashvine off my junk two days in a row."

Artemis's laugh choked off into a stutter. "I... you... you're wearing...?" Something else Artie didn't need to be thinking about. "You better clean those before you give them back to me. And please. Like I'd pull the same thing twice." Though it had been fun to hear him squawk. "And I could be done. I could also just be waiting for you to let your guard down," he teased.

"Understand, when I say this, that I love you very much, but I swear if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will personally ensure that you become a soprano. You're not the heir. You don't need to produce any children." Cormac pinched Artie's hip. "And I'll jizz all over your pillows, too."

He let that sink in for a moment, before his hand drifted back up to settle over his brother's heart. "Missed having you here, though. Hard to sleep without this." He pressed his palm flat, just feeling Artie's heartbeat.

"Sap," Artie muttered even as he squeezed Cormac's hand, a sad smile on his lips. "Now shut up and let me sleep."


	6. et Unus: 9:23 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cormac's 20, Artie's 18, Anton's 16 (and such a dick).

The man was a knight from Redcliffe, Cormac thought, or at least that was the impression he'd gotten from the guy trying not to give too much away, while passing through this little outpost that was the last proper village on the Imperial Highway. Really, it meant they got all sorts of people who were bored at the end of a long loop, and couldn't wait to get back to civilisation, proper. In practise, it meant there was never a shortage of faces that passed through once a year, at most, and could be exploited for a night's good time, before they got back on the road.

And Cormac was very much in it for the good time, that night, pressed against the back wall of the bar, between cases of wine that hadn't been hauled down to the cellar, yet. It was a crisp evening, and he wasn't yet sure that trousers had been the correct choice, as they were much harder to deal with in a hurry, but he hadn't come out to do this, tonight, and yet, here he was, trying very, very hard not to scream like he wanted to. This was much too close to far too many people, for that. But, he still panted against the brick, biting his lips and trying not to breathe too deep, lest the next sound be much louder than he meant.

Wine bottles rattled, drawing the attention of the couple already having a good time on the other side of the cases. Artemis's foot knocked against them, sending them rattling again, as he wrapped his legs around the waist of his newest acquaintance. And what was his name again? Something starting with an 'L', he thought as his hands roamed over a muscled back. Artie pressed a finger to his lips and shushed the wine bottles, earning him a chuckle from what's-his-name.

And this was better than wine, Artemis decided, as 'L' pounded into him just the way he liked, hard enough for the brick to scrape at his back, pinning Artie to the wall with a hand on his neck.

"Hawke," a voice sighed, from a little closer to the hill behind the bar than either of the brothers were, and a clank of chainmail could be heard. "Oh, Maker. Two Hawkes."

Cormac twisted to look over his shoulder and the knight's. "Jinzy! I... ah... Well. This... this is exactly what it looks like." The rest of the sentence sunk in slowly. "What do you mean 'two Hawkes'? There's only one of me." He hoped. The last time he'd checked.

The guard rubbed her face and then pointed to the other side of the stack of crates.

"Andraste's ass. Anton? Is that you?" Cormac swatted the knight off him, hopelessly tugging at his trousers with one hand as he leaned around the crates to find the brother he wasn't expecting.

"You know I'm going to have to take all of you in, for the night, right?" The guard sounded terribly put upon. "I don't care how drunk you are, you can't just drop your pants in the middle of town, and you know better. Both of you know better. I'm surprised at you, Artie!"

"You really shouldn't be," Artemis insisted, the finger he pointed at her swaying. He looked down at where 'L' still had him propped up against the wall. "Can we at least finish first?"

" _No_!" Jinzy sputtered, chainmail clanking as she threw out her arms. "Now put your feet on the ground and put on some pants!"

Artie looked forlornly at 'L' as his feet touched down. "Cormac? Cormac, could you help me find my pants. I know they're around here somewhere..."

"Oh, for the love of..." Jinzy swore under her breath and kicked a crumpled pair of trousers in Artie's direction. "I don't care if they're yours or not. Just put them on. There are some things I didn't need to see tonight."

Cormac squeezed himself back into his own trousers, which were still stuck halfway down his thighs, as the knight he'd been with appeared to debate the wisdom of running off into the night.

"Don't do it," Jinzy warned. "You're wearing plate. It's not going to end well for you."

Instead, the knight bent down to gather the few pieces he'd had to take off to make this work, buckling them back on. "How bad is this going to be?" he asked, just shy of whining. "I'm supposed to set off at dawn. The company's going to be waiting for me. We're supposed to make it back to Redcliffe by tomorrow."

"As long as you're sober at dawn, I'm sure you'll make it." Jinzy shook her head and prodded the four of them closer together, leading them back to the outpost, which had a few cells. "Of course, there's still the fines to consider. Pantsless in public? That's twenty silver right there."

She put the Hawkes in the leftmost cell and their companions on the far right. No sense in letting them get up to even more, between the bars, which ... knowing Cormac, she wouldn't put past him.

"Aw, come on, Jinzy! Last year it was you and me in the same spot on the wall!" Cormac complained.

"And another ten silver because you can't keep your mouth shut." Jinzy jabbed a finger at Cormac, as she wrote up the fines for the guard reading a book at the desk. "Let them out when they sober up, but make sure they pay up," she said. "I'm going back out."

Artemis groaned, letting his head thunk against the bars as he tried to straighten out his pants, which he suspected he might have put on backwards. "Well, this is embarrassing," he muttered. "What if Dad finds out? What if _Mum_ finds out? She makes the waspspawn look friendly when she's mad." Artie took a moment to look around the cell, one hand still fiddling with his pants, and started to notice how terribly dirty it was in here. A high-pitched whine caught in his throat. "Locking me in here with no means to clean? Now this is just cruel."

Artie made sad eyes at the guard behind the desk and considered asking to borrow a mop.

Hours passed, and very little changed aside from the frequency of Artie's complaints about his lack of a mop. Cormac had been healing himself fairly continuously for almost an hour, when the door opened, and two women stepped in. They worked the tavern, Cormac knew, and he also knew better than to cut in front of either of them for a traveller with a pretty face. They got paid, so they had dibs. And as that thought faded out, another figure came into focus between them.

"Fenwick! Are you in or not?" Anton asked, cards leaping between his hands as he shuffled them in some way that made Cormac's stomach roll. "The ladies and I have been waiting for you for an hour! So, we decided to bring the party to you and see what the hold up is."

The guard at the desk pointed at the cells behind him. "Ask your brothers."

Cormac leaned forward, face in his hands. "Hey, Anton, spot me half a sovereign?"

Anton paused mid-shuffle and choked off a laugh. "Cormac? What did you do this time?" Anton heard a second familiar voice swearing under his breath, and he peered around the desk to see Artie sitting sullenly in the same cell. "Artie? Of course, it would be both of you. And drunk, by the looks of it. This? This is my surprised face." Anton gestured at his face, which looked more amused than surprised. "So what did you do?" Without waiting for a response, he turned back to Fenwick. "What did they do? Did it involve bulls?"

"Public indecency," Fenwick answered, "so I hope not."

" _Both_ of you?"

"Yes," Artie muttered, "and no one was more surprised than I was."

"Except maybe me," Cormac sputtered. "Behind _Dane's_? Really? I kind of expected more from you. It's filthy back there." Cormac sighed and looked up at Anton. "Seriously, though, spot me fifty silver so we can get out of here. You know I'm good for it."

"Well, here's the thing. If I spot you fifty silver, you two just walk right out of here like nothing happened. It all just fades away." Anton grinned and smacked the deck onto the guard's desk. "Or, I could just go get mum."

"But, Tony!" one of the girls complained. "If you get your mum, we're not going to have a game tonight!"

"But, Lucinda!" Anton teased. "My brothers are in a prime position they will never live down, which might be worth it!" He tipped his head and squinted at his brothers. "I'll tell you what. Why don't the three of you get started, and I'll be back with a decision in half an hour. Any way this goes, my brothers are probably going home, or at least they're not going to be here wrecking my concentration in the middle of the game."

"Anton?" Artemis rolled to his knees, pressing himself against the bars. "Don't you dare, Anton!" But his wide-eyed, pleading look only made Anton grin wider.

"Back in half an hour," Anton replied, waving his fingers at his brothers. "Try not to get yourself into more trouble in the meantime. At least wait until I'm here to laugh at it."

He left, whistling cheerfully. The two ladies grabbed a pair of seats, and Fenwick started to deal.

Artemis's forehead thunked against the bars again. And he really had to stop doing that. Who knows how many people had touched these bars? Unsanitary. "Can I go back to being drunk?" he groaned.

The next set of footsteps through the door was definitely not their mother's. Thankfully. Still, Cormac was not exactly thrilled to see his father on the other side of the bars.

"Artemis? Really?" Malcolm rubbed his face in a way that was meant to suggest frustration, but did little to hide the laugh he was trying to stifle.

"Why is no one surprised I'm in here?" Cormac asked, offence clear on his face. He was, at least, finally something like sober.

"Cormac, the day I'm surprised you've been arrested is the day you should suspect I've been replaced by a demon," Malcolm pointed out, reaching into his pouch for a handful of coins. "How much will they cost me, today?" he asked Fenwick.

"Twenty silver, each, for, ah... Let's just say Lothering's not a trousers-optional town. And another ten because Jinzy says Cormac needs to learn to shut his mouth." Fenwick held up the page. "And she wrote that down, too."

"Do I want to know why neither of you was wearing trousers, tonight?" Malcolm asked, counting coins onto the desk.

"I could say it was because I was wearing a robe, but that's obviously not the case," Cormac grumbled. "Look, I'm just as surprised at Artie as you are. You know why I didn't have any pants on, which isn't even true, because I definitely had them on. On my legs even. Just... maybe not all the way on. Does it even matter? I went out for a drink! The next thing I know, I'm in a cell with my brother, who didn't even come out with me, and what were you even doing at Dane's, Artie? It's the middle of the week! I thought you only did Dane's on the weekend!"

"I wanted a drink," Artie muttered. "I wanted a drink and a..." He flushed. "Well, you know."

Malcolm looked profoundly entertained. "You remind me of some men I used to know, up north. The last I checked, one had one leg and three children, and the other lost some unfortunate essentials to an angry woman and a Rivaini trout."

Lucinda laughed, covering her mouth with her cards.

"I want Anton home by dawn, Lucy," Malcolm said, pointing a finger at the cackling prostitute.

"Yes, ser!" she promised around a laugh as Fenwick gathered up Malcolm's coins.

Fenwick took his time fiddling with his keys before letting the boys out. "Get a room next time," he told them, holding the cell door open. "Or two rooms."

Head bowed and face sullen, Artemis shuffled out of the cell, one hand still holding up his trousers as he approached Malcolm. "Can we pretend this never happened?" he asked weakly, not quite able to meet his father's eyes.

Malcolm chuckled, patted Artie's back and squeezed his shoulder. "Not a chance!" he said brightly. Artie groaned.


End file.
